


I'm Paralyzed, Where Are My Feelings?

by TinySpiney



Series: I See You [8]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Android Hank Anderson, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Role Reversal, well its more bittersweet but it happy for connor and thats what matters to both hank and me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24052993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinySpiney/pseuds/TinySpiney
Summary: title comes from Paralyzed by NF
Relationships: Cole Anderson & Connor, Cole Anderson & Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: I See You [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730275
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	I'm Paralyzed, Where Are My Feelings?

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from Paralyzed by NF

_December 23rd 2038 10:59 PM_

  
  


A long night at the office meant a long night of absolutely nothing at home. Connor rolled his shoulders as he turned off his terminal, sending an amused glance at his brother. Caleb was asleep at his desk. Well, more of _on_ his desk. Gavin was sipping on what was probably his third coffee, while rubbing at his arms to keep them warm. Fucking disaster. He put his coat over Caleb to keep him warm. Connor snorted softly and waved at Gavin while standing, he knew Connor knew he was a fucking disaster gay. It was funny to watch while he and Caleb were first dating, actually. But reminiscing wasn’t in his plans tonight. Connor had plans to watch late-night trash television with Hank tonight. Namely reruns of _The Eric Andre Show._ He wanted to show him some of the best meme material his generation had at their disposal. 

So with another wave at Gavin and a turn of his heel, Connor gently bumped into Hank and they made their way out of the building. It was snowing outside. It was cold and felt like it burned at his skin. He hated the snow now. Winter was Cole’s favourite time of year. All the different holidays, the songs to listen to, the foods to try, the stories to hear. He loved snow. So now Connor couldn’t bear to be in it any longer than he absolutely had to. But it seemed Hank didn’t like it either for whatever reason, so at least he wasn’t alone. They could avoid the cold together in the next couple of days. Amanda gave him the holiday shift off this year, despite him taking it every year, and the DPD probably needing every pair of hands they could get in the wake of the peaceful revolution. But Connor bit his tongue and he nodded when she told him, and now he was heading home with Hank. 

He tossed his music player at Hank without even looking. It was reflex at this point to have him put music on anyway. Fucker must’ve put it on shuffle because _Jesus Christ_ by _Brand New_ played first. Connor smiled, a quick little thing, and mumbled the lyrics to himself. Tonight would be a night for trash television and maybe some alcohol. Not too much, seeing as it spooked him, but some. Just enough to make him feel fuzzy in his head, just enough to make him confused and more uncaring of the world around him. The scotch he had was the good stuff, his dad bought it for him when he turned 21. It was strong. He never opened it until nearly six years later. Even then, he only drank when it got _bad._ Like, stick only one bullet into the chamber of his revolver, kind of bad. 

Connor must have been on autopilot or something while driving, because he suddenly found himself staring at his garage door. Where the wreck of his first and only self-driving car sat. He hadn’t been in there since he asked the company to put it in there. After they washed all of his and his son’s blood out and got it ready to be disposed of properly. Connor thought it might be macabre, but it reminded him of why he’d never get one again. Not that he needed a reminder. The scars littered across his body were enough. He didn’t have that many, but the one on his left bicep was the one that haunted him the most. The place where he got those stitches the night of the crash. Sometimes it would still ache. This horrible phantom pain that brought him back to that cold night, crying and holding his son, feeling his blood soak through his jeans. Being in the waiting room for hours before someone came out to say Cole didn’t make it, Gavin’s hatred of androids just beginning from that one android. It wasn’t even their fault. Either they did their best and it just wasn’t good enough, or it was too late for Cole anyway. Gavin never should have taken it out on an entire species, he didn’t have the right. But...he did love Cole just as much as Caleb did. Just as much as Niles did. Almost as much as Connor did. Gavin didn’t come from the best family, the best home life, Connor understood he needed an outlet for the grief. Connor had his own unhealthy vices that Hank was trying to help him unlearn. 

  
  


“Connor,” Hank sighed in relief when he looked at him. “You’ve been staring into space for exactly three minutes and twenty-four seconds. I was getting worried.”

“M’fine,” He wasn’t. Hank knew that. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout stuff I probably shouldn’t. It’ll stop once we start watchin’ Eric Andre.”

  
  


Hank looked like he didn’t believe him. Connor didn’t blame him. But he just shrugged and turned off the car, locking the doors and going to the house. Shit, first thing was to take Sumo for a walk. Wandering about in the snow wasn’t going to help him right now. But he needed to take him out. Connor went inside, grabbing Sumo’s leash from its coat hook, and telling Hank he was taking the boy for a walk. Completely unaware of Hank’s protesting as he shut the door and went down the driveway. Sumo seemed to have his own destination in mind, so Connor let his legs go on autopilot and let the dog drag him along. He knew the way around the block and back home. 

The snow was...pretty. Connor spent so much time avoiding going outside in the winter months, that he had almost forgotten how pretty the snow was when it was untouched. Though it likely wouldn’t stay that way for long. Especially at the park, Cole always begged to go on Christmas morning. He’d have to get up early again, get his kid up and outta bed, have to wrestle the dog in the car, and go down to the park. Cole would climb all over the jungle gym, much to Connor’s dismay. He would always take off his little gloves. Said he couldn’t hold onto the bars the right way with them on, that his hands kept slipping. If Connor had his way, Cole wouldn’t be on the damn thing in the middle of winter anyway. The fuckin’ thing was an icy and slippery accident waiting to happen. Again. It certainly wasn’t a one time thing. Cole hit his head on it more times that Connor could count. But he only cried if it really hurt him, which let Connor know if he needed to freak out or not. Caleb always told him he didn’t need to freak out unless Cole wasn’t being his usual self after he hit his head. But that was his son, he was gonna freak out a little bit when he cried after hitting his head. They were just lucky the kid never broke any bones that way. 

Connor wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting up early again in a few days. He was gonna have to get up before Cole did, and that was basically as soon as the sun came up, and lay his winter clothes out. He’d have to get himself in the shower, Cole in the bath, make breakfast, head out the door with the dog, and go to the park for all of around an hour. Cole never wanted to stay for too long because it would get too cold for him. Which was perfectly fine with Connor because he didn’t want him to get sick. But he’d still have to get him up at nearly dawn. Well, Cole would get Connor up by launching himself into his bed. If not directly on top of him. He might even put his own clothes out, he started taking an interest in it more lately. Did Cole have his boots by the door still? Connor couldn’t remember if he moved them next to the radiator in the kitchen or not. The kid always took them off next to the door though. That was probably why he left his sneakers at Gavin and Caleb’s-- 

Oh yeah.

There was no Cole for Christmas this year.

This was why Connor didn’t go out in the snow for extended periods of time.

Connor laughed bitterly and scrubbed at the tears running down his cheeks. Yeah, this was why he didn’t go out in the snow. Because it always brought him back to _before._ They were almost done with the walk apparently, Sumo had done everything he needed to or wanted to already. Ah fuck, Hank was immediately going to know he was crying. Stupid dad instincts. Connor was the same way with Cole-- Fuck, he needed to stop. He needed to get inside before his thoughts ate him alive. Connor almost wished the snow would swallow him up, he wouldn’t have to face Hank that way. But nothing could be easy, Connor was living proof of that. He sighed and unclipped Sumo’s leash before heading inside. 

Hank was pouring some fresh food into Sumo’s bowl. He chuckled as the dog tried to force his way past his legs to get at it before he was even done putting it in the bowl. Connor smiled and said he was heading to bed instead. He was cold and had a few days to catch up on it anyway. Before he knew it, the opportunity would be gone. Hank seemed skeptical, but he just came to give Connor a hug and say goodnight. To say that hit him like a sack of bricks wouldn’t be enough. It felt more like a train. But he thanked Hank and closed the door to his bedroom as he went inside. Peeling out of his clothes, he dropped on his bed in just his boxers and undershirt. He needed to wash his sheets. He forgot about the weird Sumo drool stain from a few days ago. Connor scooted to the edge of the bed that was closer to the window, reaching underneath to find the one bottle of scotch from his biological father, the real good one that would fuck him up if he drank enough of it. He wasn’t going to drink that much of it. Alcohol scared him. He’d have a bit. Just enough to make his head fuzzy and put warm tingles through his body. That was it. 

Connor sat up in bed against the headboard. He only opened it a few times, most of the drink was still in there. He closed his eyes and opened it, the rubber seal squeaking against the glass. It smelled like shit. It smelled strong. Connor took a sip, biting back the cough that tried to force it’s way out of his lungs. His shitty asthmatic lungs that fought against anything and everything that wasn’t clean air. The scotch burned going down. It was scratchy and tasted just fucking awful, it really must have been an aquired taste. But he took a few more sips. His head was a little fuzzy. Not enough to make him not care though. Not enough to make him stop thinking about the snow falling outside. Not enough to make him forcibly quiet his thoughts with music and sleep. 

A few more sips turned into a lot more, a lot more turned into too many. Before Connor knew it, he was seeing blurry everything. His vision was distorted. If he moved too fast it felt like he was going to fall over. If he moved too fast he felt like he was going to be sick. He tried to put the top back on the bottle, but his hands weren’t working like they were supposed to. So he settled for just placing them back down on the floor under the bed. Connor laid down on his stomach, grabbed the bottle of scotch, and put it on the floor. Wait why was it loud? He put it down, he didn’t throw it. That was such a big thud, did the glass break? No, it couldn’t have, he set it down on the floor. Connor looked down to see that it was on it’s side, scotch spilling all over the floor. He sighed out an exaggerated sigh and pushed himself up out of bed. Hank didn’t come rushing in, so that had to count for something, right? Yeah totally. 

He had to get paper towels. Why were they all the way in the kitchen when he needed them in the bedroom? That was so far away. Connor propped himself against the wall, still half stumbling over his own two feet, and managed to get in the kitchen unscathed. He couldn’t tear off the amount he thought he needed so he grabbed the whole roll. Well, that would imply his motor skills were working enough for him to. He grabbed the entire thing, holder and all, and shuffled back to his room. He needed to clean it up before it made his floor stink of alcohol. He hated the smell of alcohol. It burned his nose and made his stomach do flips and feel like it was dying. Nauseous, that was the word. The smell made him nauseous. Which was what he was sure he would be in the morning because of how much he drank. Whatever, that was a problem for future Connor, not current Connor. Honestly? He was kinda feelin’ that way now. But he pushed it away, he needed to get the fucking scotch off his floor. 

If his motor skills were working properly, he would have just knelt on the floor. But his inebriated brain thought it would be easier to sit on the edge of the bed to clean up. Which it kind of was. He could keep the paper towel roll next to him, tear off a few - but it was more like a handful - sheets, and bend over to wipe up most of the mess. He’d have to get on the floor to get what went under the bed. But that was okay. He could check if there was anything else under there, maybe the old DPD hoodie he never gave back to Gavin from when Cole was a baby. Fuck, y’know, he was doing so well in not remembering and then he went ahead and remembered. Instead of making his condition worse, Connor sighed and continued to clean what he could from sitting at the edge of the bed. 

Now, to say Connor couldn't handle his liquor would be untrue. He could handle it just fine. It was the thoughts that were heightened when he was inebriated that made it so he couldn’t. The thoughts like that DPD hoodie that Gavin gave him the night he found Cole. Making him so terribly uncomfortable that it settled in his stomach and made him nauseous. The fact that he didn’t eat any more than Hank forced him to didn’t make it any better. He was making progress on that front, but it was still a struggle to take care of himself at all on some days. Or some nights. Nights like these. Where the sight of snowfall made Connor’s stomach flip, and his breath hitch. Nights like these where he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry until he fucking fell asleep. 

So that was what he did. Connor curled in on himself, head between his knees, and he cried. It wasn’t fucking fair. Why the hell did the universe decide to take his fucking son and not him? Caleb and Gavin could have taken him in, he would have still had a loving family. Why the hell did he survive? It wasn’t like he was doing any good with his life anymore anyway. He was a washed up Lieutenant at the ripe old age of twenty-nine. He had done _jack shit_ since he left the Task Force. Having Gavin take his place as the head of it. What if he stayed on the Task Force? Would Cole still be alive today? If he was already at the scene, and Chris wouldn’t feel the need to call him in because he was already there. Cole would have already been at Caleb and Gavin’s for the night. They always had that arrangement. If Connor knew he’d be out real late, then Caleb or Gavin picked him up from school and brought him back to their place. If he was still on the Task Force… His son might be alive. That truck wouldn't have hit anyone. No one would have died. 

Connor didn’t realise he was screaming out his hatred of the world until he felt Hank’s hands on his shoulder and back. Until he heard his voice off in the distance. He sounded so far away, why would Connor still feel his hands? He sat up, too fast, and teetered almost dangerously toward the end of the bed. Nope. No, not happening. He wasn’t going to fucking throw up on his floor right after he cleaned up spilled scotch. While he was still wearing his fucking socks. Hank, bless his scanners, seemed to understand the situation and half dragged him to the bathroom. Connor must have looked like a mess. Drunk as hell, crying, about to throw up. He slurred his words together, he hoped Hank could still understand him as he apologised. As he said he’d introduce him to his grandson later. Through his tears and retching, once he was finally in front of the toilet at least, he could hear Hank say he’d like to meet Cole. 

There was another reason Connor didn’t drink. It burned so much more when it came back up, rather than going down. Not to mention the number it did on his pride if he was sick in front of someone other than Caleb. Caleb was used to it by now. He knew every tell, every weird tic, sometimes he even knew before Connor did. All of which Gavin knew about because of all the times he had dared Connor to eat something fucking disgusting; only to apologise as he was watching him throw up later with a mix of disgust and sympathy. 

But this time there was no disgusted, yet entertained, laughter. There was a very concerned Hank who was rubbing comforting circles into his back. Quietly telling him everything was going to be alright and he needed to relax his muscles. Connor tried his best to listen and do just that, but it was kind of hard to do when his muscles were contracting and spasming how they were.Though eventually it did stop, and Connor leaned against the side of the tub with his eyes closed, leaning over with one arm propped up on his knee. He heard the toilet flush and Hank saying he needed to at least rinse his mouth out. It pulled a laugh out of Connor. He looked up at Hank as he came over with a little thing of mouthwash. He smiled sadly and took it, softly saying that he told Cole the same thing whenever he got sick like that. Hank looked...hurt almost. He looked confused and like he didn’t want to be there anymore. Connor didn’t ask him to leave, nor did he ask him to stay. He didn’t say anything. Hank stayed. He helped Connor back into his room and made sure he laid on his side, on the side of the bed closer to the door. 

  
  


“Connor,” Hank brushed his curls from his face and crouched down beside the bed. “You know I care about you, don’t you? That I love you?”

“Mm,” He didn’t have the energy for this. “I love you too, dad.”

  
  


Hank ran his hand through Connor’s hair and pressed a soft kiss to his hairline. He told him to get some sleep, he was going to need it. Hank kept talking. Not that Connor paid any attention to what he was saying. He just listened to his voice. It was deep, kinda rough, what was the word people used? Gravelly? That fit pretty well. But most importantly, it told Connor he wasn’t alone in the house. So he listened to Hank’s voice until he fell asleep. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_December 24th 2038 6:47 PM_

  
  


This was completely out of Hank’s comfort zone. Connor knew that, and he knew he probably should have waited to bring him here. But he got a little more drunk than he'd care to admit last night because it’s the holidays, and yet another year that he wouldn’t be buying presents for a little energetic monster living in his house. A little monster that he loved more than anything else. Connor just barely remembered telling Hank he was going to bring him to meet Cole. Part of him wanted to brush it off. Convince himself that was a dream he had. Convince himself he never really said it in the first place. He hadn’t been to the grave since the funeral, since he had to watch a closed coffin get lowered into the ground. Closed because he knew he’d break down if he saw his little boy’s face. Just looking like he was sleeping instead of fucking dead. Connor knew that if he saw his son’s dead face he would have joined him the next day. 

  
  


“Connor?” Hank’s hand was warm on his shoulder. Warm amidst the steadily falling snow. “I think we should go home.”

“No.” Connor knelt down and brushed the snow off the headstone, exposing the careful carving of letters that made his son’s name. “No, I said I’d take you here. Introduce you.”

“I don’t want to be here if it makes you more likely to have a mental breakdown, son.”

  
  


There it was. That word. _Son._ What he had called Cole time and time again; just because he could, just because that’s what he was. What Connor was once-- He looked up to Hank with a thin-lipped smile. What he was again. Connor took in a shuddering breath and looked back at the headstone. He should have opened his mouth to speak. It was the first time he’d come to see his son in three years. But when he tried, the only thing that came out was a strangled sob. He fell back flat on his ass and didn’t even care that the snow was going to seep right through his jeans. Hank was beside him in an instant. He didn’t want to be held, for fuck’s sake. He just wanted to cry. Connor put his hands on the headstone, tracing over the letters that spelled out Cole’s name, and he hung his head and cried. He apologised for never coming to see him. He apologised for never leaving anything for him. He apologised just because he felt like he had to. He kept apologising until Hank asked Connor to introduce him. Right. 

  
  


“Hey peanut, I’m sorry, I--” Connor took a deep breath and forced a shaky smile. “I wanted to bring someone here to meet you. His name is Hank, he’s your grandpa. He’s my-- You know how you came from my heart and that’s why you don’t look like me?” Connor smiled at the memory. Of a little Cole asking why he didn’t look like his dad when all the other kids looked like their parents. “Well, I came from Hank’s heart, just the same as you did from mine.”

“Hi...Cole,” Hank sounded like he was about to burst into tears. Connor continued to trace the letters. “It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard some stuff about you. I’ve gotta say that you did a very good job of keeping your dad on the right track, you know. You were the reason he got any real sleep!”

“What!” Connor played along, he knew Cole would like it. He knew that if he could, Cole would have agreed and said he did a very good job taking care of his father. “I still get real sleep! I mean, yeah Cole helped me out with all his great hugs and snuggles. But I still get real sleep while hugging Sumo! Or Hank the teddy occasionally when things…” Connor went wide-eyed and started at Hank. “That’s why…”

“‘That’s why’ what?”

“That bear. That’s why I said you looked like a Hank to me.” Connor started crying, quickly wiping the tears away. He didn’t want Cole to see him cry when he was alive. He certainly didn’t want to cry at his grave. If he ever found out about it, he’d hug him and never let go. “You’ve got the angry eyebrows. Like Peter Capaldi’s, except not _as_ angry and certainly not as Scottish.”

  
  


Hank didn’t ask any more questions, and Connor didn’t say anything else about the bear. Instead they decided to continue talking as if Cole could hear them. Pretty soon, it had been an hour, and Connor was shivering. But he stayed on the ground for just a few more minutes. Sitting in jeans that were soaked with snow and making his legs feel like they were freezing off. He knew he probably shouldn’t have, but he pressed a kiss to the front of the headstone, right on Cole’s name. The marble was cold. Colder than anything he’d ever felt, and yet it was no colder than the inside of the car when he climbed into the passenger’s seat. They sat in silence. Connor didn’t dare speak because he knew he’d start crying again. He felt like he should have cried all his tears by now. 

Once inside, and Hank forcibly keeping the bathroom door closed until Connor got in the shower to warm up, they spoke again. Hank set down some soup, chicken and stars, it had been Connor’s favourite since he was a kid. It had to be Campbells though, if it was another brand it didn’t taste the same. But the point was; if Hank made him his childhood soup, then that meant he was even feeling drained by the last hour. Connor didn’t say anything as he picked up the bowl and sat on the couch, flicking on the television and putting on a rerun of _The Eric Andre Show._ He waved Hank over, and they watched the meme material together. Connor finished his soup and set the bowl down on the coffee table. He’d get it after he told Hank about...well...Hank. 

Connor went into his room with a quick affirmation that he was just grabbing something. He opened up the closet and patted the weirdly high shelf, in the far corner in the back. It was where Connor found his revolver the night Hank hid it. He was looking for the bear, he was fully intending on holding it and going to sleep. But...well depressed brains do what depressed brains do, he figured. Connor grabbed Hank the teddy, gently shaking him and dislodging the dust from his worn fur. He rubbed little circles into the fur and smiled as he walked out of his room with it. Sitting back down on the couch, he set the bear in Hank’s lap and pointed to the worn little marks above the bear's eyes that looked like angry eyebrows. 

  
  


“Cole named him Hank because he said it sounded like the name of a man who was angry all the time.” Connor thought about it. No, that wasn’t exactly what Cole said. “No wait. He said something about it being the name of a guy who _looked_ angry all the time. But he was nice because he was a soft teddy bear.”

“So you subconsciously drew a parallel between me and the bear.” Hank smiled and stroked the bear’s fur. “It’s made of mohair fabric. Did you know that some of the very first teddy bears ever made were made with this type of fabric?”

“I...didn’t actually.” Connor knew it was a distraction, that Hank was just trying to keep him from having some sort of mental breakdown like he did last night. “What else can ya tell me, Pop?”

  
  


He accepted it, and silently wished Cole a good Christmas wherever he might’ve been. 

He knew he wasn't going to get out of bed on Christmas morning again this year. But at least this time he wouldn't be alone.

  
  
  
  



End file.
